


A Little More Touch Me

by andchaos



Series: Holiday Fluff 'verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Dean's Birthday, Drunk Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:02:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's birthday both goes to plan, and doesn't.</p>
<p>Happy birthday, baby!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little More Touch Me

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 35th birthday, Dean Winchester!
> 
> Otherwise known as the time I continued to do every trope in the book, and still didn’t care.
> 
> PS: Dean may be turning 35 in 2014, but he’s turning 27 in this ‘verse.

Cas’s main problem was that Dean hated asking for anything.

          When he first said, “What do you want for your birthday?” Dean shook his head, tightened the arm around Cas’s shoulders, and said, “As long as I’ve got beer, my brother, and you, everything’s just fine.” He’d paused. “Not in that order. You might rank above beer. Maybe.”

          Cas had barely smiled at the joke, lost in thought. Dean deserved the entire universe, but he felt like he couldn’t even ask Cas to be the one to make the call for pizza most nights. He usually hid it behind snarky comments like, “You mumble too much on the phone,” but Cas knew, he knew how Dean felt that he had to take care of everyone, that he owed so much to everyone. So he let him prop his feet on his lap and turn his dumb sports movie louder, and he zoned out trying to figure out the perfect present on his own.

          Every few days, he asked again, hoping maybe Dean would suddenly think of a gift, or at least get exasperated enough with the same question to make up something acceptable. Although Dean did get increasingly frustrated, going from laughing it off to snapping at him, he never once even hinted at what he wanted. Every time, Cas sighed and shut down, reverting back to reliance on the faculties of his own mind to give him a solution. Fuck, but this was difficult.

          With four days to go, he was getting desperate. At this point, he was extremely unconcerned with the questionable social constructs regarding acceptable expense spared on a new boyfriend’s birthday; he would pay pretty much any amount if Dean would just _choose_ something. With so little time, he pounded on Dean’s apartment door at seven in the morning, determined to force an answer out of him.

          He was knocking for about two minutes straight when someone yanked the door open, tousle-haired and sweatpants-clad and a few inches taller than his boyfriend.

          “Cas?” asked Sam, rubbing at his eyes and holding the door a little wider. “It’s like four a.m.”

          “It’s seven in the morning,” Cas informed him, amused.

          “Holy shit,” he said mildly, “Come in.”

          He stood back and shut the door behind Cas, then joined him at their small wooden table, running a hand through his hair and trying to get him into focus.

          “I am surprised you’re still sleeping,” said Cas, leaning toward him. “You usually wake much earlier.”

          “No classes on Tuesday,” Sam yawned, “So I don’t have wake up at the crack of dawn to run. You want to come out with me later?”

          “I have work in three hours, and class afterward.”

          “No problem, man. Let me change, we can go out now. You’re already in sweats.”

          Ten minutes later they were jogging down the sidewalk, turning down the street onto Stanford campus. Cas hesitated, but Sam knew these roads well, so he let the younger man lead them down a side street just as Cas was starting to sweat. Sam finished a story about his date with Jess last night, then, when he’d finished laughing, said, “Oh, Cas, wait—why did you come this morning? Besides to freeze your ass off working out at an ungodly hour?”

          “I…don’t think God has any specific objection to the morning hours,” Cas panted, furrowing his brow, his confusion growing when Sam laughed.

          “No, no, I just meant, uh, why did you…stop by?”

          Cas didn’t answer immediately, stopping on the grass to brace himself against his knees, catching his breath. Sam leaned against a bench, waiting for him to regain composure enough to start moving again. After about a minute, Cas stood up and waved sloppily at him, and they started off again, side by side on the narrow sidewalk. Cas still didn’t answer him directly.

          “What are you doing for Dean’s birthday?” he said instead.

          “Didn’t he tell you? We’re throwing a party at The Roadhouse, Ellen and Bobby and me. I figured you were coming…It starts at two. They’re closing the salvage yard way early.”

          Cas shook his head as best he could while focusing enough on his path not to trip. “I know, I’m bringing extra bourbon. I meant, what are you giving him as a gift?”

          Sam gave a low whistle. “Oh no, no way. I just barely came up with something, I can’t help you.”

          Cas shot him a brief, desperate look. “Can’t you tell me anything? Anything he likes, anything he’s even _looked_ at in the last month.”

          Sam grinned. “Sorry, dude. You know Dean. He doesn’t like anything.”

          “He doesn’t _ask_ for anything,” Cas corrected. “There’s a difference.”

          “Actually, it’s usually the _same_ difference, with Dean.”

          “What?”

          “What?”

          “That’s an oxymoron. I don’t understand.” He was remarkably blank-faced for someone running fast enough to keep pace with Sam’s gigantic strides.

          “Don’t worry about it. For now, just focus on finding a present.”

          “Yes, and you’ve been very helpful so far.”

          They looped through what felt like the entirety of campus before winding up back at the Winchesters’ apartment. Cas carefully mapped their route in his head as they went, hoping to retrace it later on his own. They practically fell through the front door upon returning, sweat running in rivulets down their backs and thighs, and Sam let Cas shower first. He was out in less than five minutes, making sure to leave enough hot water for Sam. He was wrapped up in a towel, just contemplating the idea that he might actually have to change back into the sweaty clothes currently draped over one of the kitchen chairs, when someone laughed loudly behind him, letting out an excited cheer.

          “Holy shit, Cas, is this an early birthday present?”

          Cas turned around, eyebrows raised. “Is that all I have to get you?”

          Dean strode forward, already dressed in his work clothes and clearly about to leave. He ran a hand through Cas’s wet hair and then grabbed his towel-covered waist.

          “Do it right, maybe.” He shook his head and turned away, grabbing a cup of coffee from the other side of the counter. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I have to leave for work. Now.”

          “Oh, I just stopped by to go running with Sam,” he said, hitching the towel tighter. “Can I borrow some pants?”

          “That’s a terrible thing to do to the human race,” said Dean, even as he wandered into his room and started digging through his closet. “But I’ll spare you anyway. I want those back, they’re my best pair.”

          They were track pants, but Cas had a particular liking for Dean’s eccentric preferences. He pulled them on, working determinedly underneath his towel despite how Dean angled his head, hoping to catch a lucky glimpse. He rolled his eyes and walked back to Dean’s room himself, ignoring the gaze he knew was following him, and started digging through one of the piles of clothes on the floor. Dean was still standing by the counter sipping coffee when Cas returned, pulling over his head a blue sweater that actually belonged to him but had been lost on Dean’s floor weeks ago. He hummed idly as he edged around Dean, pressing a light kiss to his lips when he passed to grab a plastic bag in which to wrap his dirty clothes.

          “Go to work,” he ordered, tying off the plastic bag. “I have work to do before ten, and if I arrive late Crowley will definitely report me.”

          “You have work before work?” asked Dean incredulously, pulling a face like the very thought was making his stomach turn.

          “Yes, and _you_ have work before _I_ have work, so you had better go.”

          “Fine. Am I coming over tonight?”

          “That’s what we agreed.”

          Dean squeezed his ass a little when he kissed him goodbye, which was basically custom, and then he hustled out, because he _was_ running a little late. Cas stayed for another ten minutes, bouncing more ideas off of  Sam when he got out of the shower, but then Sam went back to bed and Cas returned to his car, fully intending to drive aimlessly around town until he formulated a decent solution.

          When he went to work two hours later, he still had nothing.

 

He had reached a point where he couldn’t ask anymore because the date itself was too close, and he was left simmering in silence—with the occasional complaint to Sam.

          “I have _two days_ ,” he panted over the counter on the twenty-second, still sweating from their run. “What are you getting him?” he entreated, turning wide eyes on Jess.

          She blinked sleepily up at him, tugging on her sleep shirt and running a finger around the rim of her coffee cup. “Sorry, Cassy, but it’s kind of a no-split thing. How exactly do you go halfsies on a hunting knife collection and a year-long membership to the gun range?”

          Cas swore, which he rarely did, and flipped his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “I have to go take a shower. If you think of anything—”

          “You’ll be the first I’ll call,” she promised, smiling sweetly.

          Sam bent to kiss her cheek, she squirmed out of the way of his sweaty body, and Cas went to go take a shower. Dean had already left for the salvage yard, and Sam and Jess both had class soon, but Cas stayed to keep her company while her boyfriend was getting ready. They talked about her plans after college, what she planned to do while Sam was in law school, and finalized the celebration for Saturday. Sam reentered ten minutes later, clad in faded jeans and a red plaid shirt and shuffling Jess out the door, insisting that they were both already running late for class. Cas reluctantly followed them out, unexcited about the prospect of another disappointing morning.

          He was five minutes late to work, but empty-handed.

 

He didn’t go out with Sam the next morning, as Dean slept over Thursday night and they was up late watching bright space movies (Dean was “educating” him on pop culture, as he was more Norse mythology than aliens and vampires) and making out during the slow parts.

          He woke up confused and a little aching, unable to breathe with Dean’s arm draped over his face. The coffee took ten minutes to finish, so he showered while he waited and changed back into a different pair of sweatpants, as his shift wasn’t for another four hours. Dean woke just in time for coffee and bacon, to Cas’s unsurprised amusement, padding into the kitchen barefoot and distracting him as he tried to flip the strips onto a plate before they burned.

          “Pancakes?” asked Dean in his rumbling, sleepy voice, apparently not yet awake enough to utilize proper sentences. As he said it, he rubbed his face against Cas’s bare shoulder, pressing against the lines of his back hard enough that Cas suspected he wasn’t yet awake enough to support himself properly. Cas elbowed him gently, trying to get around him to put breakfast on the counter, but Dean wrapped an arm around his waist and held him fast until Cas relented to the food request, rolling his eyes. Dean made a small cheering noise and released him, and Cas busied himself starting the pancakes so his expression wouldn’t reveal how completely adorable he found early morning Dean. When he got enough sleep, he was basically a small child, except over six feet tall and lined head to toe with defined muscles and it wasn’t illegal to sleep with him. Fortunately.

          Dean made small, appreciative noises as he ate, still blinking himself to full awareness. He was slightly more revived when he finished eating, though he still looked a wreck and seemed disinclined to move when his plate with cleared.

          “You’re lucky it’s your birthday weekend,” Cas muttered as he brought both of their dishes to the sink. “I expect the same treatment or better on my own. What time do you have to be at work?”

          “I don’t,” Dean mumbled, dropping his head onto his arm. “Let’s stay here. We can start Firefly.”

          “And this isn’t some thinly veiled attempt to convince me to go back to sleep with you?”

          “Why, Cas, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were accusing me of something.”

          “Yes, excessive laziness. Come on, I called you in late to work already but you only have an hour. Let’s go.”

          Dean reluctantly rose to his feet, rubbing fiercely at his eyes. “Can I steal a sweatshirt?”

          Cas did better than that and let him bum a t-shirt, too, but he insisted on keeping his faded jeans. He also tried to seduce Cas back into a nap no less than eight times; on the last one, he nearly succeeded, managing to lure him all the way into sitting on the bed before Cas jumped back up, scolding Dean profusely even as he wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist and nuzzled into the hem of his sweater.

          “Dude, what happened to my birthday weekend?”

          Cas huffed a laugh, petting over Dean’s head. “Try again tomorrow.”

          Dean grumbled as he pulled away from Cas’s warmth, and didn’t stop muttering and pulling faces all the way out to the car. Cas tolerated it all with a fair amount of tender serenity, because when without malice the grumpiness was almost as endearing as the slow drowsiness from earlier.

          He stopped outside the salvage yard and let Dean out, but not before kissing him hard enough to at least slightly dissolve his determinedly fierce pout. He made it to the café with less than a minute to noon, and rolled his eyes when he saw Crowley watching the clock.

          “Cassie! And here I thought you were all set up to leave us.”

          “Morning, Crowley,” sighed Cas. “I am sorry to say that you’re stuck with me.”

          “I’ll try to contain my pleasure while we’re on the clock.”

          Crowley was crude and grumbling all day. Used to this, Cas resolutely ignored him, too busy splitting his consciousness between gifts and customers to heed the snark working beside him. He left at five, calling his sister in for the last hour.

          “Why can’t I meet your boy?” asked Anna for the umpteenth time as she whisked in the door, fluidly taking the apron from his hands and retying it around her own waist.

          “He doesn’t even know you live in Santa Clara,” said Cas, shaking his head and digging around in his pockets for his car keys.

          “And you can’t tell him because…?”

          Cas sighed. “Meeting you means questions about your family.”

          “ _Our_ family, Castiel,” she corrected gently, sighing. “And they aren’t _that_ shameful.”

          “You ran,” he said simply. She rolled her eyes. “Meeting you means meeting Zachariah, and both he and Dean are well-versed in shooting guns.”

          “Nevertheless, their meeting is inevitable.” She grinned suddenly, hands clasped behind her back as she bounced between the balls and heels of her feet. “I’m betting five minutes before old Uncle Zach punches him.”

          “Dean would win that fight.”

          “And we have a name!” she crowed suddenly, and now it was Cas’s turn to roll his eyes. “I knew I could crack you!”

          “You’re a child. And I don’t want a gun fight.”

          “Come on,” she said, quieter but still joyous, nudging him with her elbow. “You loved those old Westerns when you were a kid.”

          “Well, please forgive my six-year-old self’s poor judgment. If you’ll excuse me, I have a birthday present to purchase.”

          He made it out from behind the counter, around two customers, and got one hand on the exit before Anna called out, “Wait!”

          Cas sighed, hesitated, and turned around. “Yes?”

          “You’re still looking for a birthday present, right? Well, I have an idea.”

          Cas uncrossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Speak.”

 

Cas woke early the next morning, intending to cook Dean breakfast that he could maybe announce the delivery of via morning blowjob. Unfortunately, all such plans were shot to hell when he opened his eyes and found Dean already watching him, albeit sleepily, as though he had only just awoken himself. Cas groaned and shifted, snuggling his head closer to Dean’s chest.

          “G’morning,” Dean huffed, dragging a hand through Cas’s hair. “Sleep well?”

          “Shush. Not done sleeping yet. More.”

          Dean’s laughter shook through him, inaudible but quaking. “Okay, you feel free. I’m hungry.”

          When he went to move off the bed, Cas locked his arms tighter around his waist. “No. I’m making you breakfast.”

          “Sure. Bacon?”

          “Later. After we sleep more.”

          “ _Cas_ ,” Dean whined, poking him in the shoulder so he groaned again and hid his face further. Dean was having none of it; he continued nudging him and whining his name until Cas rolled off him, muttering darkly in Enochian as he staggered to the door.

          “Stay,” he ordered, squinting sleepily at the man on the bed. “Don’t sleep without me.”

          “Baby, I never sleep much in this bed _with_ you.”

          Cas refrained from sticking out his tongue as he shuffled off to cook. Sam had requested he keep Dean busy until at least two, so he had time to wrap his present and get The Roadhouse set up and with everyone in it. Cas had had to rush home yesterday, wrap his own gift, and store it somewhere Dean wouldn’t look in the following 24 hours, before running to pick him up from work. Anna had been right, though, and the present was good enough to be worth the extra effort.

          Dean was slumping drowsily back on the pillows when Cas returned with a plate of bacon and pancakes. He glared accusingly at him as he sat down on his side, heavily enough to jolt Dean back to full consciousness.

          “It’s hardly a tray,” he said regretfully, shoving the plate onto his lap. “Nevertheless, I hope you’ll appreciate the gesture.”

          Dean made a grateful and enthusiastic noise in the back of his throat as he dug in, and Cas smiled serenely at his profile. Dean glanced at him and offered a forkful of syrup-drenched pancake, moving the plate underneath the bite so that it didn’t drip or fall onto the bed. Cas mutely declined and slipped further down, tilting his head onto Dean’s shoulder instead. After a minute or so in relative silence, during which time he started running his foot along the inside of Dean’s calf, he turned and began kissing at his shoulder. Dean shrugged, trying to shake him off, so Cas wrapped his hands around Dean’s free one and tugged his arm straight to give himself uninterrupted skin with which to work.

          “What are you doing?” asked Dean, reduced to eating one-handed.

          Cas moved up to his neck instead of answering. “Happy birthday,” he murmured, biting gently at his ear.

          “ _Cas_ ,” he complained, jabbing at him with his fork, “I’m eating.”

          “Me too,” he said casually, licking up the side of his neck. His fingers were tapping gentle and arrhythmic patterns against the inside of his thigh, teeth grazing his jaw.

          “Cas—”

          “By all means, continue breakfast,” he interrupted, shimmying down beneath the covers. “Don’t mind me.”

          “You’re not helping,” Dean grunted, flexing the fingers of the hand that Cas still had captured in one of his. Cas hummed noncommittally, pressing his lips to the junction of his hip and leg.

          “Sorry.” He whispered the word into Dean’s skin. “I’ll let you continue in peace.”

          He didn’t, though.  He licked down Dean’s half-hard cock, tonguing at the slit before taking him in, feeling him swell against his throat. He made small, appreciative noises as he moved his head, and Dean choked slightly against the food that he was still determinedly eating as though this didn’t affect him in the slightest, though Cas could feel the negation of this notion against the tongue he was running along the underside of Dean’s cock. He came quickly and silently, but Cas was by now well-versed in the tenseness of his thighs and crush of his nails into his skin that he was nevertheless prepared, lapping it all up like he was dying for it, just as he always did. Dean sighed afterward, and Cas wriggled back up to the pillow, huddling into the arm that Dean wrapped around him. Cas’s erection was evident against Dean’s waist, but he was ignoring it, and Dean obviously knew any attempts at reciprocation would be rebuffed, so he just continued eating, pulling a hand through Cas’s hair and occasionally leaning down to kiss him.

          “You know,” said Dean conversationally, shoveling more pancake into his mouth, “usually it’s really hot to taste me on you, but I have to say, come does _not_ mix with maple syrup and bacon grease.”

          Cas smiled and sat up, shoving his plate off his lap and moving to straddle him, then kissed him long and deep.

          “Better?” he asked when he pulled away.

          Dean smirked. “The good outweighs the bad,” he allowed, and pulled him down for another sloppy kiss.

          They stayed in bed for another hour, alternating between kissing and light conversation until Cas’s stomach started to growl. Cas rolled off of him and began scrounging on the floor for pants. Dean swung his legs off the bed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Is it my turn to cook for you?”

          “No, it’s your birthday. I have cereal. You stay in bed.”

          “Is that an order?”

          Apparently Cas pouring Cheerios was the most interesting thing that Dean could experience this morning, because five minutes later he followed him out into the kitchen and sat on the counter next to where he was adding milk. Dean swung his legs while he sat, like a little kid instead of a twenty-seven year old man, and Cas watched him while he chewed.

          “I have to bring someone tonight,” he said suddenly, because Jo was a loudmouth and the party had been secret for all of five minutes.

          “Who?”

          “A friend,” said Cas evasively. “She helped me find your gift and was…insistent about meeting you.”

          “Who is she?” Dean repeated, suspicion now knotting his brow.

          “She’s my coworker. You’ve probably met her. She has red hair?”

          Dean nodded thoughtfully. “Oh, yeah. She was working first time I saw you. She was hot, man.” He grinned suddenly, his foot knocking against Cas’s thigh. “Not as hot as you, of course.”

          “I’m eating, Dean,” Cas said calmly, pointedly ignoring the comment about Anna because apparently being attracted to his family was in Dean’s blood and also because he really didn’t want to think of his sister in that context. He pushed his foot off his leg.

          “That didn’t stop you,” answered Dean, smirking again, trailing a hand down Cas’s neck and as far down his back as he could reach from his position.

          “It’s _your_ birthday,” he reminded him, swatting his hand away. “That means _no_ reciprocation. Not even in advance.”

          “You can’t use that as an excuse,” Dean chided, ruffling his hair instead before hopping off the counter so that he could get a better angle to wrap his arms around Cas’s waist. “Especially not if this is what _I_ want to do this morning.”

          Despite the protests he continued to expound, when Dean began nipping at his neck, he stretched to give him better canvas. Spooning cereal into his mouth was difficult and, frankly, absurd-looking from this position, but he preferred it to eating comfortably and not having this attention, so he continued his laborious consumption of cereal and let Dean do his work.

          Dean only lasted two minutes before he desisted, snorting laughter into his back. He choked out, “You look fucking ridiculous.”

          Cas hardly managed to put down his spoon before he was breaking out laughing, too, mainly in acknowledgement, slumped over the counter from the force of Dean pressing into his back. Unsurprisingly, Cas sobered up before Dean did, but he let his boyfriend lean on him until he was able to stand without immediately doubling over. Of course, the first thing Dean did was get back to task; he spun the swivel chair forcefully, pressing his face close.

          “Are you done yet?” he asked, voice low, lips nearly brushing Cas’s whenever they reopened.

          Cas nodded, suddenly very mute, and Dean grinned predatorily. Without breaking eye contact, but also without moving their faces closer, he reached down and grabbed the backs of his thighs, then hitched Cas’s legs around his waist and moved his hands to his ass for better leverage. He stood straight, Cas clamping down on his shoulders, and refused to meet his mouth properly, just watched Cas breathe shallowly above him before he threw him down on the couch. He immediately crawled on top of him, knees on either side of his waist, and leaned to kiss at his chest.

          “God, you’re just so fucking hot, baby,” he breathed, moving down further, licking once over a nipple so that he arched up into him, “Especially to be asking me to keep my hands off you all day. Like that’s any kind of birthday gift.” He chuckled darkly before turning attention to the tattoo he loved so much, deepening the bruise already there that he seemed intent to see remain permanently.

          Cas moaned his name when he moved back up to the unattended nipple, and scrabbled insistently at Dean’s hair and back.

          “What? What?” he asked in the rare seconds he managed to tear away from Cas’s skin.

          “I need to—I—kiss me, kiss me,” he babbled.

          Contrarily, Dean lifted off of him completely, turning away when Cas settled on his hands for leverage to chase his mouth; Cas was forced to press his lips elsewhere instead, like his collarbone and the spot beneath his ear.

          “Why?” he finally grated out when this proved too difficult a position to uphold. He flopped back onto the sofa, glaring.

          Dean grinned and obligingly pressed his hips down, not moving but at least providing something for Cas to move against. He did, immediately rubbing his erection into Dean’s crotch.

           “I thought this was about what _I_ wanted,” said Dean.

          Cas rolled his eyes. “Alright, then. What do _you_ want?”

          Lips close to Cas’s ear, he whispered, “I think I want to lick you open until you’re screaming for me to fuck you, and then I’m going to make you take care of yourself while you suck me off again.”

          Cas trembled under him, already tugging at the top of Dean’s track pants. “Okay, okay,” he muttered, unable to properly divest him of clothing whilst Dean was still resolutely pressed against him, “I want that—I want that, please, just—”

           “Mmm, and you’re already so eager for it, baby,” he said lowly, kissing him lightly, nipping at his bottom lip before moving down again. Cas eagerly lifted up so Dean could pull off his sweats, throwing them blindly so that they landed half off the edge of the coffee table. “Flip over.”

          Cas did, rocking against the cushions without preamble, but Dean laid one arm across his lower back to keep him still. He did, grumbling obscenities that turned to breathy moans when Dean spread him open and licked over his hole, once. He started squirming, then pressed back hard when Dean finally pressed in his tongue. Dean dug his nails into Cas’s side, a silent order to be still. He tried, the only movement the frenetic rise and fall of his chest against the couch cushions, but in doing so got a lot more vocal.

          _“Dean,”_ he groaned out, fingers tearing at the armrest above him. “I’ll b-be good, I’ll do whatever you want. J-just—I know you said you wouldn’t, but—”

          Dean ignored him, pushing in deeper, and despite his best efforts Cas moved back again, letting out another loud moan that interrupted the end of his own sentence. Dean let him this time, acquiescing to the rhythm Cas set for several minutes before he hissed, “ _Dean_ , fuck me,” and Dean pulled out, Cas shuddering with the loss. Hands around Cas’s waist, Dean flipped him back over, rolling his hips down to move against his as he kissed him. Eventually Dean shoved him away, hands on either side of Cas’s head while he panted hotly against Dean’s cheek.

           “Remember what I said comes next?”

          Cas nodded eagerly, pushing at his shoulders so their positions flipped.

          “God, baby, you want it so bad,” Dean muttered, while Cas grabbed at his face and kissed him repeatedly. “So fucking desperate to get me off, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

          “Yes! _Dean_ , can I please—I want you—”

          “My birthday,” Dean reminded him, grinning, and Cas whined, biting reproachfully at his collarbone. Dean chuckled. “Luckily you seem to want what I do.”

          Cas didn’t move for a moment, just staring at him, until Dean rolled his hips against Cas’s and said, “Blow me, Cas. Now.”

          Cas mouthed his way down Dean’s chest and stomach, pulling off the track pants when he reached them. Dean was bare underneath, as he usually was when they were just lazing around the apartment, and he wound his fingers through Cas’s hair while he dropped the clothes onto the grey carpet. Normally Cas would have prolonged it, pressed his tongue and teeth into the skin of his thighs, but this particular morning he decided on subservience and took him in, just barely, sucking at the head before sinking down. Dean writhed under the fingertips spread over his abdomen, just the way Cas liked; Cas hummed appreciatively before getting back to task.

          “Touch yourself,” Dean gasped, stroking through Cas’s hair.

          Cas glanced up at him and then away, focusing on his free hand as it trailed to wrap around himself, at the same time that he could feel Dean’s thighs tensing. He gave one, two, three strokes and then Dean was spilling down his throat; another two and he was coming, too, still lapping at the head of Dean’s cock as he rocked against his hand against the couch. After, when Cas had crawled up and rested his head on the top of Dean’s, they laid in silence, with Dean occasionally pressing light, short-lived kisses to Cas’s neck. Cas hummed lazily, nuzzling into his hair.

          After several minutes, Cas gathered Dean’s hands and disentangled himself, then slid off the couch, ignoring Dean flailing an arm, trying to beckon him back. Instead, he threw Dean’s track pants over his face and said, “Get up, assbutt. We need to take a shower and go.”

          “Yeah, yeah, I’m hauling ass,” Dean muttered, rolling onto the floor.

          Despite Dean’s attempts to cajole him into a joint shower, Cas opted to clean up while Dean went into the bathroom. They switched when Dean came out, and when Cas was done, too, he found Dean sitting on his bed in the same old track pants as before, playing a game on his phone.

          “I left you jeans,” he said, gesturing at the pants he’d folded and left at the foot of his bed.

          “Your pants don’t fit me,” Dean said absently, flopping onto his back, still fixated on his screen.

          “They’re yours,” he said, rolling his eyes and tugging on a pair of black slacks. “You left them here last week. Put them on, we’re going to stop by your apartment anyway so you can change.”

          “Aw, come on, man! How come? I look fine! I look awesome.”

          “Jo said to dress semi-formal,” Cas said, now buttoning up a white collared shirt.

          “But I—”

          “She also said not to listen when you insisted that you didn’t have to, and to have you there in nice clothes if I had to tie you up and drag you by your pasty yet bitable ass. Her words, not mine.”

          Dean grumbled, but he nevertheless sat up and began to get dressed.

          They still had an hour, so Cas decided to take him out for lunch. They went to a crappy old diner, complete with a large jukebox in the corner and waitresses on rollerskates. Cas ordered a milkshake, one of those large, creamy ones that taste more fantastic than any he’s ever had, and Dean chewed almost absently on his fries while he watched Cas pull at his drink like it was the only thing in the world that brought him any happiness anymore. Afterwards, they paid for their meager meal and got back in the car. When they pulled up to The Roadhouse, they were a few minutes early, but when Cas hurried inside to check that this was okay, Sam assured him that they were ready and he rushed back out to drag Dean inside.

          The first thing Sam did was slam a party hat down on Dean’s head, snapping the string over his chin and grinning like the little shit that he was. Cas snatched his own out of Sam’s hand, glaring meaningfully at him. His phone buzzed against his leg; he ignored it in favor of grabbing Dean’s hand and pulling him deeper into the bar. His phone went off again.

          “Isn’t it a little early to be drinking, boys?” asked Ellen, coming out from a back room and slamming two mugs down in front of them. Dean grinned and immediately gulped a copious amount of his drink down. Cas rubbed a hand up his thigh, adoring and supportive of his bad habits on this particular afternoon. Then he finally pulled his cell phone out his pocket, kissed Dean on the cheek, and retreated into a far corner to answer the call.

          “Cas!” the voice on the other end trilled. “I’ve called you, like, five times!”

          “Sorry, Anna,” sighed Cas, eyes flicking to where Dean and Sam were busily preparing four lines of shots. “I was—”

          “Well, anyway,” said Anna, hardly listening, “I’m going to be another hour, but I need the address.”

          Cas gave it to her, wanting to return to the bar before anyone started asking questions and before Dean got too smashed. He was currently straightening his own line of glasses while Ellen filled all twenty from a handle of whiskey.

          “And listen,” he finished seriously, “Nobody knows we’re related, so please don’t—”

          “I know, Cassy, I know,” said Anna lightly, and Cas could practically see her rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry about it! I just want to meet your new boy toy, god, _relax_. I’ll be in and out in an hour. I even bought him a present!”

          “Oh, shit,” muttered Cas, sweeping his hand through his hair. “Whatever. Just…don’t drink too much. I want you _out of here_ by four.”

          “Yeah, yeah.” She dismissed him, and Cas could feel her attention straying. “I’ll be in and out so fast nobody’ll even know I was there. Now, I have to go, but save me some tequila shots.”

          _“Anna.”_

          “Chill out, I’m kidding. See you in an hour.” She hung up.

          Cas knocked his head into the wall behind him, mouthed a prayer, and then plastered on a smile and rejoined the crowd at the bar.

          “Just in time!” Dean crowed, pulling him in by the waist. His mug was already empty, and he’d started in on Cas’s beer. “You’re line three. Get ready, Sam’s a lightweight but Pam can give even me a run for my money.”

          Cas smiled ingratiatingly and positioned himself on Dean’s other side, Pam Barnes on his right and Sam on the other end. Jo grabbed another eight shot glasses and filled them, too, ready to push them toward whoever finished first. Jess was squeezing Sam’s left hand, jumping around encouragingly. Dean reached over, pinched Cas’s ass, and winked when he looked at him. He then turned back to his drinks just as Jo screamed, “Go!” and Cas jumped, slightly irritated with the deliberate distraction, and started downing his shots.

          Someone was slashing marks onto his arm in felt-tipped marker for every drink he finished, but he paid them no attention as he finished each shot, barely swallowing one before he grabbed a new glass. Jo was pouring at record speed, pushing them at whoever needed one.

          Sam was the first to drop out, falling back into his chair after his seventh drink. Jess hugged him conciliatorily, and Sam tilted into her embrace so forcefully that she staggered back, then dragged him across the room to a booth and ordered him a plate of buffalo wings. Someone new dropped into his vacated seat, and Cas wasn’t looking at who, but he saw a flash of long hair in his peripherals. The newbie whooped loudly and he grinned, sloshing a little alcohol onto his chin when he recognized Ash’s cry. Jo shoved a line of shots toward him, and someone with a sharpie started slashing tally marks onto his arm.

          After twelve shots, Pam dropped out too, staggering into the bathroom to vomit. Someone else followed her worriedly. A new person dropped into her seat, a blonde woman that Cas didn’t recognize, but that he thought might be one of Sam’s law school friends. The only original contenders left, Dean and Cas glanced at each other, and the game continued.

          Cas won, topping off twenty-one shots to Dean’s nineteen, and afterwards he staggered drunkenly into the middle of the cleared bar floor, wondering if he was going to puke. He spun around confusedly until Pam knocked into him, hard, and when he tried to focus on her, she shouted, “I didn’t boot!” and threw up her hands. A few people cheered, and she beamed and went to go steal some of Sam’s wings, which Jess was currently feeding him in between taking bites of her own, wiping the grease on her low-slung worn jeans. Cas felt a sudden surge of affection for her, but before he could do anything else, someone grabbed his hands and spun him around.

          “Dance with me!” Dean shouted, and hearing his request from her position by the staff room, Ellen turned on the music to eardrum-shattering levels. Dean yelled out happily and pulled Cas further from the crowd still clustered around four people at the bar, none of whom Cas knew. The blonde woman from earlier had also went to go steal some wings, and Cas thought he saw Sam’s mouth form the name “Ruby” before Dean spun him around and he lost track of silly, inconsequential things like direction.

          Pretty soon, everyone was hammered—even the Harvelle women were a bit tipsy, although since they were manning the bar, they were careful not to drink so much that they could not manage. An hour later, long after Dean had given up trying to dance with any modicum of coordination, they were sprawled out across a booth while Dean tried to convince Cas to let him take tequila shots off his stomach. Suddenly, the bell over the door rang, and Cas struggled up from his half-sitting position and caught a flash of red.

          “Anna!” he shouted, and jumped to his feet. Dean’s head whipped up, but Cas was already halfway across the room. Anna smiled brightly at the sight of him, however drunk he so obviously was, and caught him in a tight embrace when he reached her. He lifted her off her feet as he spun her around, burying his face in her hair, and she gave a laugh like a bell chime and stroked a hand down his back.

          “Good to see you too, Cassy,” she said. When pulled away from him he grabbed her hand, excitedly babbling names and facts about the people they were passing as he dragged her over to the bar.

          “This is my friend Anna!” he shouted over the music, leaning across the counter so that Jo could hear him. “She needs to catch up!”

          “Holy shit!” Jo cried, ignoring his statement completely and instead laughing at his red face. Anna howled beside him.

          “I haven’t seen Cas this drunk since his twenty-first birthday!” she said, clutching his arm to hold herself up while she laughed, and Jo was practically laying on the bar in an attempt to hear her better. “I jumped out of this cake, you know, it was our—his brother Gabriel’s idea, and Cas looked so fucking green, I thought he was gonna vom! Anyways, he gets so totally smashed trying to bleach the image that I legitimately thought he’d killed himself at one point—”

          Cas was laughing, too, falling back onto the stool behind him, and Anna waved her hands around while she told Jo the story, in between taking shots herself.

          “—I probably shouldn’t have gone for the bikini,” she hiccupped, refusing another shot and twisting the cap off a beer instead. “I think I scarred him for life. Gabe still laughs about it if he gets high enough.”

          Jo was in hysterics, clutching at the side of the counter, and Cas was leaning back far enough that he nearly fell off his stool, and probably would have if warm hands didn’t suddenly slide around his shoulders and prop him up.

          “Be careful, baby,” Dean slurred, mouth close to Cas’s ear so that he could hear him despite the low volume of his voice. “You’re too pretty to crack your head.”

          Cas twisted around, grabbing at Dean’s collar and face and kissing him sloppily before turning back, tugging insistently on Dean’s sleeve.

          “Dean, Dean, this is my coworker, remember? Remember I was telling you about her?”

          Anna pulled away from Jo and beamed at Dean, who was smiling lazily back at her. She was sober enough to shake his hand briefly before returning her attention to her beer.

          “Hi!” she said brightly, sweeping a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m Anna.” She giggled. “Cassy has been telling me _all_ about you, he never shuts up!”

          Cas shoved at her playfully. “I do not!”

          “Yes you do!”

          They were still arguing good-naturedly when Ruby came over, practically slamming into the bar with the force of her entrance. She caught herself on her hip and the palms of her hand, then flipped her bangs out of her eyes and grinned across the counter.

          “I need more hard cider!” she shouted. Jo immediately went to fetch it. Ruby turned to face them all, and Anna introduced herself.

          “She was just telling us all how she was the stripper in the cake at Cas’s twenty-first,” Jo called from the other room.

          “I was _not_ a stripper, Jo! It was a prank!”

          “Wait, wait, I thought you were coworkers?” Ruby broke in.

          “We are,” said Cas, turning to her in bemused trepidation, his hands playing with one of Dean’s.

          “Did you guys meet at the coffee shop?”

          “I—”

          “Best friends in high school,” Anna cut in. “Like a brother to me. His whole family, actually—that’s why Gabe thought me in a cake would be funny. He takes great joy in other people’s pain.”

          Cas reached out and squeezed her arm in silent thanks. She cut him a quick glance and then smiled beatifically at Ruby, who was looking utterly unsuspicious, to Cas’s relief.

          “Thought you had no family, Cas,” Dean muttered, elbowing at Cas’s ribs.

          “Not formally,” he said, turning so quickly that he knocked Dean’s knees with his own.

          “But after your family kicked you out—”

          “We lost touch, when I joined the army,” said Cas quickly, fingertips scrabbling at the back of Dean’s hand.

          When Dean smiled, it was slightly crooked, but he seemed accepting enough. He knocked the counter so that Jo returned, glaring at him and slamming Ruby’s drink down, and then she left again with his order for another round of beers for everyone. Ruby groped blindly for her bottle, eyes trained on Anna, who was laughing at something she’d said. A minute or so passed, and then Jo came back again, loudly announcing a free refill for all, and when she was done Ruby turned to compliment the cider. Anna giggled, fingers grazing the belt loops on Ruby’s jeans, and when Dean went to take another pull of his drink Cas grabbed his sister’s shoulder and spun her around.

          “What are you doing?” he hissed, pressing close to her side, and she whipped around to glare at him.

          “What are you talking about?”

          “Stop _flirting,_ ” he growled, fingers tightening on the edge of the bar. “That’s one of his little brother’s best friends!”

          “Come on, don’t be such a spoilsport!” Anna flipped her hair over one shoulder and her eyes narrowed even more. “It’s not like I’m _marrying_ her. Honestly! You dragged me here, now let me have a little fun!”

          “I didn’t even want you to come!” Cas whispered fiercely. “You insisted!”

          “Same thing,” she said, smirking suddenly, and she kissed his cheek before reengaging Ruby in conversation. Cas watched her carefully for a few seconds before turning back to Dean. He was looking distinctly grumpy, which was made no less off-putting by the pointy hat sitting lopsided on his skull.

          “What’s the matter?” asked Cas, pressing close to his side and dragging one of Dean’s hands off the counter, cradling it in both of his.

          “Nothing,” said Dean, shrugging out of Cas’s grip and pushing away from the bar. “I’m going to get some food.”

          He sauntered over to Sam’s table, which was being constantly restocked with buffalo wings.

          Ruby stared after him, bottle poised against her bottom lip. “What crawled up his butt?”

          “Our sweet little Cas, probably,” said Anna, giggling, ruffling his hair. Cas shoved at her.

          “Aww, that can’t be true,” said Ruby, grinning and tugging a lock of Anna’s hair. “If Cas was up his ass, neither of them would be in such a mood.”

          The girls fell upon each other, giggling, and Cas rolled his eyes magnificently and turned away from them both. Jo was watching them, smiling but not joining in on the banter, so Cas turned to her desperately.

          “A drink, please,” he grumbled, and Jo cast him a sympathetic look as she poured two shots of vodka into his draft. Cas took a long pull from the glass, then set it down heavily.

          “That is disgusting,” he commented lightly, and Jo shrugged. He thanked her anyway, picked up the mug, and carried it across the room.

          “Extra concentrated alcohol for the birthday boy?” he asked, setting it down on the table.

          Dean looked up at him, focusing with some determination. “Thanks, Cas,” he said finally, and maintained a determinedly stony expression when he sipped at Jo’s concoction. Cas was a little proud that he managed to keep the straight face. He prodded him over and sat down on the edge of the booth, and though Dean allowed the hand on his leg, he didn’t sling his arm over the back of Cas’s seat as expected.

          “No long face,” said Cas, nudging his head at Dean’s shoulder. “Twenty-seven is not even that old.”

          “I know,” said Dean, finally gracing him with a smirk. “You’re still the cougar in this relationship.”

          “Let me buy you a drink,” he said. “The cradle-robber must feed his young.”

          “I thought _this_ was my drink, sugar daddy?”

          “This is _my_ drink. And _never_ call me daddy,” Cas added sharply, threading their fingers together and pulling up Dean, who was laughing raucously. He grabbed the handle of his mug and sipped from it as he led Dean back to Jo, who immediately gave him a bottle of his favorite beer.

          Ruby and Anna had disappeared to places Cas would prefer not to contemplate, and the pair of them commandeered their empty seats. After several more minutes, at which point Dean’s hand had found its way inappropriately close to Cas’s crotch, Dean suddenly leapt up. Cas frowned at the removal of warmth, but Dean just ruffled his hair (why did people keep _doing_ that? Cas wondered angrily, smoothing it back into place) and staggered off toward the bathrooms.

          Anna returned before Dean did, pulling Ruby by the hand and still giggling. She paused when she reached Cas, releasing the other woman.

          “I told you,” she said solemnly, grabbing Cas’s hands in each of hers and swinging them between them. “One hour. Now I’m gone. Give it a week, and no one will even remember my hair color. And that’s my very best feature.”

          Cas rolled his eyes and pulled her in for a hug, his mouth close to her ear. “And you didn’t get Ruby’s number for later?”

          She laughed loudly and pulled away from him, hands still clasped together. “Oh, _Cassy_ ,” she said affectionately. “That’s my business. Besides, you and I have different surnames—no one will even make the connection.”

          “What’s wrong with Novak?”

          “Our sweet little Zach has the same last name,” she said, sighing. “And Uncle’s so charming, it’s really a wonder why I don’t want to be associated with him. Really, Milton’s so much less conspicuous.”

          “Your logic confounds me.”

          “Keep it up, sweet cheeks, and I won’t cover any of your shifts for a month.”

          “Sweet cheeks?” Cas repeated incredulously. “Oh, crap, you _are_ wasted, aren’t you?”

          “Don’t worry,” she giggled, the red on her cheeks deepening briefly. “I called a cab.”

          With one more verbal farewell, she threw her arms around his neck, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and pulled away, waving once more before exiting and throwing a wink that he thought must be aimed at Ruby, who was standing slightly behind him. Cas shook his head and sat back down at the bar. He drank more of Jo’s brew, and he had just slammed the mug down on the counter, three-quarters empty, and wiped his mouth clean when someone suddenly grabbed his hand and dragged him off the bar stool. He didn’t see his face but he knew the rough feel of his palm, even when it was pulling him away from the crowd. He didn’t see anything concrete, focusing too acutely on not falling over, until his back was slammed into the black door of the empty men’s bathroom, which was too hard to be pure wood and for some reason all Cas could think about was the probability of steel reinforcements. Meanwhile Dean was pressing hard, insistent kisses to his lips. Just as Cas gained the presence of mind to push him away and ask what the hell was going on, Dean pulled back enough to scrape his teeth along the line of Cas’s jaw.

          “Who is she?”

          The question came out a low growl, in perfect conjunction with the hands pressing him so hard against the door that he knew he would soon have bruises. Dean didn’t cease in his ministrations, which did not grow less violent; he sunk his teeth into Cas’s clothed shoulder, sucked almost brutally at his neck, and dug his fingers and nails as hard as he could into his side through his shirt. One hand pulled at his top buttons, which tugged hard at the strings keeping them attached when they came undone.

          “There are so many holes in that story,” Dean continued, jostling him slightly and nosing at his collar so that his stubble scraped roughly at Cas’s chest. “ _So many._ You told me yourself that you didn’t have _anyone_ when you moved out here. So how could you forget your childhood best friend?”

          “I told you—”

          “ _No_ ,” Dean growled. “Fall out of touch or not, if you’re kicked out with _nothing_ , you call whoever you can. I know. I’ve been there. So what gives?”

          “Dean—”

          “Don’t lie to me,” he snapped, pulling his shirt the rest of the way open so that buttons scattered across the floor. Damn it. This was one of his only good shirts. “Who is she?” he hissed, nails scraping down Cas’s sides, leaving pale marks in their wake. Cas gasped and arched into him, arms around Dean’s neck. “Ex-girlfriend? Because she seems pretty hands-on.”

          Cas let his arms drop so that Dean could push the shirt off fully. He didn’t bother answering; Dean interrupted or shushed him every time he opened his mouth. Instead he twined his hands through Dean’s hair and pulled, and Dean growled low in the back of his throat and bit harshly at his collarbone, digging into the soft skin above his hips.

          “Did she ever touch you like this?” he rumbled, pulling at Cas’s fly and shoving his pants down with his boxers so that they pooled at his ankles.

          “N-No,” said Cas, and it wasn’t even difficult to repel the mental image when Dean was kissing him like this, hard and possessive and deep, and Cas knew it was borderline barbaric behavior but he didn’t care when Dean was rocking against Cas’s thigh, though he was refusing to provide any amount of friction in return. Cas’s cock was throbbing desperately against the leg Dean was using to keep him in place, but he didn’t dare move against it.

          “ _No one_ touches you like this anymore, do they, Cas?” he said, dangerously quiet as he wrapped a hand around Cas’s bare cock, but not otherwise moving his arm.

          “Just you—”

          “Just me,” Dean repeated, breathing hotly against his cheek while his hips continued their slow roll against him. “Because you’re _mine_ , Cas, aren’t you? Because you belong to me?”

          Dean sounded really drunk; Cas didn’t care at all, on his level or worse, so he pushed his hands under Dean’s collar, barely touching skin as he dragged his nails down his chest, mouthed breathlessly against his skin, unsure if he was allowed to mark him back. Dean chuckled, low and mirthless.

          “Needy little Cas,” he sing-songed quietly, grabbing his ass hard enough to leave red and black marks and darting his tongue out to lick at the corner of Cas’s mouth without providing any real satisfaction. “ _My_ needy little Cas. Turn around.”

          He didn’t wait for him to move of his own volition, instead gripping his waist and spinning him, pressing his face into the door with one hand tight in his hair.  Cas insufflated sharply, one hand pressing into the wood, the other groping behind him for Dean’s jacket or arm or _something_. When Dean grabbed his wandering hand he exhaled, closing his eyes in relief, but then Dean simply pinned it beside him on the door and pressed close, his entire, clothed body fitting up against the lines of Cas’s naked back. Cas whimpered, rubbing his ass back against Dean’s clothed erection, until Dean canted his hips forward to trap Cas properly and instead slid his body against Cas’s in short, precise grinds. After a minute or so, Cas’s whines the only noise in the echoing room, he took his hand off of Cas’s wrist to reach into his back pocket. He pushed back when Dean’s weight lifted off of him, but then the grip on his head released and reappeared on his waist, keeping him in place. The next thing Cas felt was Dean’s fingers, pressing into him, trembling slightly from the copious quantities of alcohol they had each consumed but slick with lube. Cas quavered as Dean stretched him, first with one finger, then two, then three; Dean muttered absolutely filthy things in his ear while he worked, promises and taunts and possessive grunts that were all slightly slurred. Cas groaned out his name all the while, never raising his voice above a whisper for fear of missing even a word of Dean’s speech. Occasionally, he bit at the lobe of Cas’s ear, tugging harshly before returning to his monologue.

          Finally, he removed his fingers and used them to flick open his own fly instead, shoving his pants down to his knees and pulling his cock out, lining up against Cas’s hole and wasting no time before he started to push in, a long, even slide.

          “Who else gets to break you apart like this?” asked Dean, burying his face against Cas’s neck and inhaling almost obscenely, his cologne and his sweat and his raw, unblemished scent. His hand snaked back into his hair and pulled, and Cas groaned and thrust back, encouraging Dean to start to move. “Who else, Cas, talk to me! Who do you fall apart for? Who makes you sweat and shake and scream until your throat is raw and you can’t even fucking _see_? _Who do you let see you like this?_ ”

          “Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, _Dean_!”

          Cas was nearly screeching by the end, pushing back wantonly as Dean slammed into him, and Cas could feel the vibrations from the music outside as they found the same rhythm as the drumbeat. Dean sunk his teeth into the meat of his shoulder, his free hand curled around Cas’s waist so that he could pull him back against him to meet every thrust of his hips, and Cas cried out. His left hand started a slow slide down, and when Dean noticed, he shoved him forward, hard, so that he was pressed flat against the wood, and Dean did not stop pounding into him as he snarled, “Are you going to touch yourself, Cas? Do you need to do that? How many fucking ways do you need it before you can come?”

          Hand quivering minutely, Cas kept determinedly still, all except for the way that he kept shoving all his weight back onto Dean’s cock. His hand reached up to grab the one Dean had in his hair, and it was an intimate gesture that Dean twisted, pressing his hand flat against the door so that the ball of his palm ground against Cas’s knuckles.

          He was practically sobbing. “I need you, Dean, I need you—I just need you, please. It’s just you, I swear, alright? I’m—you’re—Dean—”

          Dean jerked his head to the side so that he could properly ravage his neck, mostly teeth and fairly brutal. “Yeah, Cas, you _are_ mine,” he growled, suckling at his pulse point. “And everyone’s gonna fucking know it, too. I am going to mark up every visible inch of you, do you understand? And every time you so much as _move_ for the next week, you’re gonna feel me, and then you’re gonna know it too.”

          “No, no, I know it, I know! I’m—I’m yours, please, please…”

          “You drive me absolutely crazy,” muttered Dean, nipping at the very edge of his jaw before burying his face in Cas’s hair.

          That was fairly obvious, but Cas thought it best not to provide sass until he had properly explained everything, and anyway his thought process was not currently at its finest. He wanted to tell Dean that he was close, but he seemed to already know, fucking into him harder and deeper than before so that he screamed and rose up onto his toes. When Dean bit out, “Come for me, Cas,” he did, in ugly spurts over the door and his own stomach, and all throughout Dean never stopped pounding into him. When he was done, he slumped against the door, and still Dean did not cease; finally, he bit at the knob at the top of his spine and thrust in one last time, as far as he could go, and then he was coming, nose pressed once more to his neck so that as he breathed, he could smell and taste only Cas.

          When he came down, he fell against Cas, and slipped out of him; his come was already leaking down the backs of Cas’s thighs, and they were both suddenly aware that Dean was still mostly clothed. When he regained proper control of his motor functions, Cas turned and wrapped his arms around Dean, burying his face in his shoulder, and Dean automatically returned the gesture. They stood in silence for several minutes, with Cas occasionally dropping kisses onto the exposed part of Dean’s chest, which was shining with sweat.

          Dean was the first to speak.

          “Did you mean what you said?” he asked, voice remarkably small, and Cas suddenly smiled against him. After a few seconds, Dean seemed to realize that he was shaking, because he asked, “Are you laughing?”

          “She’s my sister,” said Cas. He pushed his damp hair out of his eyes so that he could properly look up at Dean, who was staring down at him with an unreadable expression.

          “What?”

          “Anna. She’s my sister.”

          He paused. “Oh. Why didn’t…?”

          “I don’t want questions. About my family. And if you knew my sister was in town…You don’t want to know my family, Dean. _I_ don’t even want to know them. And I can’t…”

          Dean pressed his lips to the top of Cas’s head, stroking gently down his back. “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, and I promise…I won’t ask. Nothing until you want to tell me about it…If you want to tell me about it.” He paused. “Jesus, she’s your _sister_?”

          Suddenly he was laughing, and then Cas was laughing, too, which was all completely ridiculous because neither of them were even fully out of their pants and they had just had really rough, pointless sex against the bathroom door of The Roadhouse and now Cas didn’t even want to leave because Dean had been serious about marking him up beyond invisibility, and there was literally no way he could slip out without his frankly obscene amount of hickeys getting noticed. There was also come drying into the backs of his legs, which was already slightly uncomfortable.

          Dean obligingly wiped him down with a wet towel, not at all thoroughly but it would have to do. They redressed slowly, knowing that they had little more time before someone came looking for Dean to unwrap his presents—if everyone wasn’t so hammered drunk, they probably would have already. They were in no way presentable, but hopefully no one would be looking too closely, but Cas still looked askance at the blooming marks on his neck when he had finished buttoning his shirt.

          “You look sexier naked,” Dean commented, watching Cas examine his own appearance.

          “I thought only you were allowed to see me without clothes,” Cas returned drily, and when their eyes met in the mirror, Dean was blushing. Cas winked.

          “Come on,” Dean muttered. He grabbed Cas’s hand and dragged him from the bathroom.

          Nobody commented on their absence; Sam usually gave them a cursory bitchface, well acquainted by now with Cas’s sex hair and the way that Dean constantly missed a button when haphazardly redoing his shirt, but he was too far gone to care; eight and a half shots deep, topped off with three beers, and currently too invested in shoving his tongue down Jessica’s throat to give a shit about the fact that Cas was wearing Dean’s jacket done up over his open dress shirt (Dean had destroyed the buttons on the white long-sleeves pretty comprehensively). They held hands as they approached the bar, and Cas interrupted Dean’s plea for more alcohol by saying, “Presents, Ellen, he should open presents.”

          Dean made a loud, pleased noise as though he’d forgotten about that entirely, and grabbed at Cas’s waist. Cas laughed while Dean kissed repeatedly at the side of his face and Ellen raised her brow at them.

          “You boys sure are in a good mood,” she observed, lips quirking. Cas blushed; Dean shrugged.

          “Don’t tell me where, and I won’t ask for details,” she said, raising her hands, and then she scooted out from behind the bar to call everyone to order.

          People were loud while Dean opened gifts, which was predictable with that particular crowd of friends. Dean was openly praiseful of the guitar Cas had given him—he spent twenty minutes making plans to learn every AC/DC song ever devised and would not listen to Bobby telling him to start slow—so between his expression and the mind-blowing surprise sex, Cas was overall pleased that he had involved Anna in the soiree. Afterwards, they turned the music back up and set out more drinks and a fresh plate of buffalo wings, and Dean made him stumble drunkenly around the dance floor for thirty-five excruciating minutes before he acquiesced to resting.

          Dean decided to stay until the last person had gone, which meant that Cas and Sam were also stuck there because he also insisted on sleeping in his own bed later, and they needed to carpool (Sam had rode in with Jess). Ellen flipped Jo the keys around one in the morning, not trusting a group of heavily drunk men to lock up properly, but her precautions were rendered moot because as soon as she was out the door, the Winchesters and Cas poured a round of shots for Jo and practically tipped them down her throat.

          “None of you can drive,” she giggled at half past, slumping into Sam on their side of the booth.

          “What if we slept on the tables?” suggested Sam, propping her upright and knocking his legs on the underside of the booth as he tried to free them to climb over her. Jo giggled harder and shoved his feet off of her lap.

          Cas was drawing patterns on the back of Dean’s hand with a pen he had found in Jo’s discarded apron. Dean leaned down and nosed at his ear, ignoring their friends across the table as thoroughly as they were disregarding them.

          “What are you doing, baby?” he asked, his other hand reaching around to try and still the pen so that he could examine the design. Cas knocked it away when it came close.

          “M’connecting the dots,” he slurred. “Did you know every freckle is a kiss from an angel?”

          “I did, I knew that,” said Dean. “Why are you drawing on my hand freckles?”

          “Because I put them there,” said Cas, grinning. He removed the pen long enough to kiss Dean’s hand with a theatrically loud smack. “Get it?” he asked, pleased with himself, as he continued drawing. “Get it? Cos I’m an angel! Cos—because—I was named for an angel!”

          Dean nodded and took another sip of his beer. “I know, baby, s’why I call you ‘angel’.”

          “You never call me ‘angel’!”

          Dean frowned thoughtfully. “I should.”

          Cas shook his head forcefully, his hair flopping all over his forehead. “No, no, no, no, no! My brother used to call me that! Do _not_!”

          “Why not, angel?” asked Dean, laughing when Cas grimaced, and he leaned over to kiss his cheek, his hand pulling out of Cas’s grip; the pen left a line across his wrist before it fell from his skin. “Come on, angel! Angel! It’s my birthday, angel!” He sporadically interrupted his own teasing with kisses, and Cas leaned away, swatting at his chest. Even after they fell over on the bench, Dean did not stop, just leaned over him and peppered his entire face with kisses, light and unceasing.

          “It’s not your birthday anymore!” Cas shouted, squirming to try and free himself.

          “Well, you owe me the six hours we slept through,” Dean pouted, sitting up.

          Cas followed, legs stretched out over Dean’s lap, fingers in his hair. “Well actually, _gaha_ , you owe me for the psychological damage I endure daily by dating you.”

          Dean shoved at his shoulders, mouth open in shock, and Cas slid his knees off of Dean’s thighs and sat down on his own calves. He pressed close, lips at his ear, and whispered, “Plus, you know, you owe me about _six_ full birthdays with all the sub-par sex I’ve had to endure.”

          And then he was up and halfway across the room before Dean had managed to wipe the gobsmacked expression from his visage and scramble after him. He chased him through The Roadhouse while Sam and Jo looked on from their seats, laughing so hard that they fell into each other, until Dean finally caught Cas around the waist and spun them around once before falling onto the floor, Dean cushioning him as he was pulled down.

 

They called a cab around four in the morning, Jo choosing to crash on their couch rather than face her mother and admit how shitfaced she’d gotten. Besides, if she stayed out she could lie about what time she’d gotten in. Sam opted for a cold shower before he went to bed, but Dean headed straight to his room when they all stumbled in, pulling Cas with him. After undressing quickly and with minimal collateral damage (Dean tripped into his own bedside table and Cas knocked a half-open drawer off its track when he fell on his ass), they each put on an old pair of Dean’s sweatpants and slipped under the covers, having to untangle their limbs and then properly realign beside each other.

          Cas hummed happily in the darkness, cuddling his back closer to the body behind him, and Dean’s arms tightened around his chest. He nuzzled his head further into Dean’s throat, the top of his hair tickling the underside of Dean’s chin. Soft voices floated in from the other room, probably Sam stopping for a quick chat with Jo before they went to bed, though their conversation was muted by the bedroom door.

          “I can’t sleep. My ass hurts,” Cas complained after a minute or two. He could feel the body behind him vibrating with laughter in response.

          “Well, that’s your fault.”

          “No! You got needlessly jealous. Anna’s my _sister_.”

          “Hey, what you do with your family is your own business.”

          “That’s disgusting.”

          Still laughing, Dean hugged him tighter, burrowing his face into the junction of Cas’s neck and shoulder.

          They did not sleep for another hour at least, but later, after Cas had kissed him until Dean apologized for the slight and Dean had climbed on top of him and called him ‘angel’ until Cas pronounced him the birthday king, they curled back up together and watched quietly as the sun came up through the window. Cas felt something fluttering against his rib cage, like his heart had grown wings with Dean’s name stamped over the feathers. Like a new tattoo, so now he had two: One for his old family, and one for his new.


End file.
